


Some Days

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Grad Student Bitty, M/M, Post canon, Trans Bitty, mentions of dysphoria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 09:18:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10214357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sometimes Bitty wonders how he and Jack might be if he'd grown up different.  Other times he feels nothing but contentment.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Special thank you to RainbowLookingGlass for the beta and keeping me on track. And to my bff Luke who indulges me in my fandom nerdery and lets me base some of my OCs on him from time to time.

Bitty stood in front of the mirror, turning from side to side. The light from the barely parted shades gave a better highlight than any snapchat filter available, and he didn’t hate it. He had pretty great skin, thick hair, at five years on T and nearing twenty-four he could grow alright facial hair—even if it came in strawberry blonde and just this side of fuzzy. He’d gained bulk over the years—he’d always been prone to thick thighs and the small pouch at the bottom of his tum, regardless of crunches, didn’t make him feel bad most of the time.

He hadn’t had a period in years, and the scars from his surgery had faded into slightly darker than his own skin, and were lying flat under his pecs.

He felt pretty good most days.

Not all days, though.

He’d just gotten back from his meeting with the LGBT club. He hadn’t been the most active participant this year, with thesis research, and moving in with Jack, and the commute to lectures took a lot out of him so his status as Vice President had been demoted. He didn’t mind that much, but he’d been feeling a little low that week—anxiety and nightmares of a less-than-pleasant childhood making themselves known which happened like clockwork during times of heavy stress.

He’d be done soon, and that was the one thing really getting him through. But he’d stopped by the café for the meeting, and sat with Brandon who had given up his position as President though he’d held it since his frog year.

Brandon had caught Bitty’s eye years ago. He’d been giving a lecture to a couple of the LAX bros about their shitty behaviour at Spring C, and when Bitty stopped to talk to him, Bitty learnt that Brandon was a grad student in Bitty’s year, had been on T since he was sixteen, and had started the smaller LGBT club for students who often got left out of the bigger ones on campus. His fiancée had convinced him to start it when she realised how often the younger students came to him for advice.

Most of the students there were non-binary or trans, and all of them had childhoods similar enough to Bitty’s that he felt good about the group. Like it was something he could have on his own outside of Jack, and the team, and his degree, and everything else. It was a safe space he could come and go from whenever he needed it.

But sometimes talking to Brandon was hard. Because Brandon had a lot of things other guys like him didn’t. He was tall, six one, and beardy, and muscly. He’d had years of vocal training and he didn’t sound cis, but most people didn’t double-take either when he opened his mouth the way they did with Bitty sometimes, especially if Bitty was tired and not trying as hard.

Bitty was happy. Mostly. He had a great boyfriend, and he was good at hockey, and he was getting his grad degree. It had been a long time since he was the scared kid confused about who he was and what it all meant.

But sometimes being with people who had just a little more of what he wanted was hard.

The door to the bedroom opened, and Bitty turned his head, smiling at the sight of Jack freshly showered, wearing joggers and a t-shirt. Their practise had gone a little long that morning, but Jack had texted to let Bitty know he’d bring home lunch to make up for it.

Bitty’s grin widened when Jack dropped his bag by the door and crossed the room in three long strides. His hands came up to Bitty’s waist, one of his favourite places to touch his boyfriend, and his lips descended against Bitty’s skin, just under his ear.

“Missed you,” Jack murmured.

Bitty gave a happy hum, leaning back into Jack’s embrace. He stared at them in the mirror, marvelling at how good they looked together, how right. He wondered if they’d look so perfect if he was a little more like Brandon. What if he was taller, more muscular, had thicker hair across his face.

What if he looked like one of _those_ guys. Would Jack still be into him? Would he still have raced across campus, held his face, and kissed him?

“You’re thinking awfully loud today,” Jack said, dragging his lips up the cut of Bitty’s jaw. “Bad day?”

Bitty shook his head. “No, not really. I met with the group after my morning lecture for coffee. It was nice. Bran says hi.”

Jack grinned. “We should have him and Chelsea over. When he’s done crying into his research books.”

Bitty snorted, turning in Jack’s arms. “I’ll have you know not every grad student does that.”

“Just you then?” Jack chirped, and brought his mouth down, giving Bitty the proper kiss he’d been craving. His hands separated, one going down to cup his ass, the other into the shorn sides of Bitty’s hair. Jack’s favourite stim was running his fingers along the shaved bits, and Bitty loved it way too much to ever deny him.

“I’ll have you know that crying over thesis research is sweet and adorable and you should be grateful you get to see me like that,” Bitty said with a tiny sniff. “After all, I’m almost done.”

Jack smiled, then grabbed Bitty by the waist and heaved him up. Bitty yelped and protested—one he didn’t mean which Jack knew well by now—and he smacked Jack on the ass as Jack carried him over his shoulder to the living room. He eased Bitty down onto the sofa where food waited just to the left of it, and he perched between Bitty’s spread legs.

“When you’re done, I’m taking you somewhere expensive.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I think you mean, Jack, you’re the best boyfriend in the whole world, thank you so much,” Jack said, doing a piss-poor imitation of Bitty’s accent. Jack did that a lot, and it was a small thing, but Jack never attempted to alter the timbre of his voice when he mimicked Bitty. And it was appreciated, quietly—rarely mentioned, but Bitty allowed himself a soft smile.

“Well it had better be Paris.”

Jack scowled. “I hate the French.”

“You’re French,” Bitty chirped.

“I am not French.” Jack dove in and nipped him on the neck. “You take that back.”

Bitty giggled, refusing, and the nips turned into kissing, which turned into Jack pressing him against the pillows. Bitty’s laughter turned into quiet moans, which turned into roaming hands and tangling tongues.

It was clear neither of them had anticipated any of this, but as Jack’s fingers worked Bitty up and up, then over, gasping with his orgasm into Jack’s neck, Bitty realised he certainly didn’t mind a little deviation from the routine.

He returned the favour shortly after he caught his breath, then they cleaned up and Jack carefully set the food out. He’d gotten Bitty a chicken sandwich, and chicken tenders for himself, and they sat on the soft rug, legs stretched out under the table as Bitty put on the recorded GBBO he’d kept for quiet afternoons where he didn’t feel like paying attention to what was playing.

“Do you wanna talk about it now?” Jack asked, picking at the last chicken tender in his container.

Bitty sighed, leaning his head back against the sofa cushion. “It’s nothing really. I guess I was feelin’ low.”

Jack looked at him sideways. “Anything I did? Or can do?”

Bitty shook his head. “Not you, sweetpea. I’m…it’s. You make me so happy and if you’d have talked to the terrified fourteen year old me, he never would have imagined life could get so good. In tiny places like my old neighbourhood…sometimes it feels like it’s endless. Like the idea of getting out and getting to be who you are is just abstract.”

This wasn’t the first time they’d talked about this, but Jack never made Bitty feel like he was repeating himself when he needed to say it again and again.

“I don’t feel bad all the time anymore. But sometimes I wonder how different things woulda been if I you know…if I looked like Brandon a little more.”

It was clear by the confused look on Jack’s face he didn’t entirely understand what Bitty was saying. “What do you…”

“Just…tall. Bigger. He’s…he’s been on T so long, and it’s different for him. His transition was easier because there wasn’t so much he needed to change.”

Jack hummed, then beckoned Bitty over, and really Bitty didn’t even need an excuse to climb into Jack’s lap and be held. He laid his head on Jack’s shoulder, facing away from the TV, and lost himself for a bit on the feel of Jack’s fingers travelling up and down his spine.

“I understand,” Jack said after a minute. “I can’t ever wish you ended up different, because I love you so much. But I think I’d also love you no matter who you ended up being, or what you looked like.” He said it simply, matter-of-factly, the way Jack said anything at all. Because that’s how he was, and Bitty loved that about him almost more than anything else. Jack didn’t mince words, didn’t try to soften the blow in order to preserve feelings over honesty. Which meant these little moments were more treasured. Even though they’d never experience the what ifs, Jack believed he’d love Bitty no matter how he turned out.

Acceptance wasn’t everything, and it didn’t take the sting out of old memories and trauma, but it meant something when it was the man he loved as much as he loved Jack.

“Thanks, baby,” Bitty said, and pressed a kiss to the underside of Jack’s chin.

Jack chuckled. “It helped?”

“It helped. And I’ll send Bran a text later. Thesis or not, if I say the words key lime pie, you know he’ll be here.”

Jack laughed again, and squeezed Bitty tight, let go, then squeezed again. He repeated it a few times, then kissed Bitty six times, three on each cheek. “Okay. But apple too, please.”

Bitty hummed. “Of course.” He glanced at the clock. “Time for your bath?”

Jack nodded, and allowed Bitty a moment to hang on before sliding away from Jack’s legs, easing onto the sofa instead of the floor. Jack leant over Bitty, brushing fingers through his fringe, kissing him soft and sweet on the lips. “Want to go for a walk after?”

Bitty touched Jack’s cheek, cupping it in his palm. “I’d love nothing more.”

Jack’s grin was brilliant, blinding, and Bitty had to ease up to kiss him once more before he wandered off.

Laying back, Bitty heard the water running, the tub filling. He counted in his head the exact number of minutes before the jets rumbled, and Jack’s quiet humming began. Bitty knew the song by heart. It was the same every evening, and it lulled Bitty into a sense of quiet rhythm and comfort.

This was his life.

It wasn’t always perfect or easy. The trauma of his past never went away, but it had dug a path, through tears and frustration and sometimes violence—to this exact moment. Where he was happy and loved. Where he was exactly himself, and proud of that.

Bitty hummed along with Jack into the sofa cushion, closed his eyes, and smiled.


End file.
